by Glen Robins
“The Harbor Master on duty that morning was Stanley Gyles, a man I was well acquainted with. He had his hands full, but he also had his personal radar up and in prime operating condition.
“I had been so engrossed in thought that I passed right by him without so much as a wave of the hand.
“This must have upset him or raised his suspicions because he was on my stern as soon as I reached the jetty. He laid on his horn longer than was needful. ‘Aye, Captain Sewell. What gives?’ He was pulling along my starboard side. His face showed his hot displeasure.
“My heart stopped. How could I have been so absent-minded as to miss him tootling about in his bright blue boat with the red hull. I was sure he was going to board my boat and we would end up in prison. ‘Oh, Stanley. My apologies, good man,’ I said to him.
“He continued without listening to my stuttering attempt to assuage him. ‘Listen, man. You know the custom here. We have rules, you know. You can’t just go by me like that.’ He was shouting at full volume. I realized my little motor was loud and so was his as he adjusted his throttle to match my speed. ‘You’re also coming in too fast, man.’
“I shook my head as if I was trying to wake myself from a stupor. In a way, I was. But I was also exaggerating so as to gain some time and some sympathy. ‘Long night, my friend. We’re coming in through that storm that just passed by. I’m bushed. No sleep all night. My brain’s not working right.’
“Showing his frustration, Stanley shook his head and wagged his finger. ‘How many years, good man? Huh? How many?’
“‘Many years, I know,’ I said, sounding truly sorry. ‘Too many to count.’
“‘Then you should be ashamed of yourself, not following the rules. I have a mind to come onboard to see what it is keeping you up all night. Very strange things happening with you these past few months. Now this. I ask again, what gives, Captain Sewell?’
“‘Trust me,’ I said, showing my hands as I shrugged. ‘It’s nothing like that. I’m just out of my head, you know? Just tired and not thinking right.’ I could see he wasn’t convinced, so I added, ‘Come aboard if you want.’
“As Stanley thought things through, I feared he might act on the invitation. His hand went to the throttle and he backed down his speed. I followed suit, slowing to five knots. ‘I just might…’ he said.
“Just then, Stanley’s radio crackled. ‘Harbor Master, this is the April Rain, come in,’ came a sweet female voice.
“Stanley grabbed the handpiece from its cradle. ‘Go ahead April Rain.’
“‘Harbor Master, we request permission to tie up at the supply dock on the south end of the harbor. We’re picking up a load of food and beverages.’ The voice was pleasant and laced with the drawl of a Southern Belle from the United States.
“Stanley pulled a clipboard from a nail on the bulkhead behind him and flipped the page, scanning with his eyes. ‘Roger that, April Rain. I see your name on the itinerary. Permission granted.’
“‘One more thing, Harbor Master. Being as how this is our first time here, we were looking for the safest way through to the supply dock.’
“‘Roger, April Rain. I’ll be there in a moment.’ Stanley looked at me, a smile opened, and his teeth shone forth. ‘Tourists,’ he said, shaking his head and grinning. ‘Next time, don’t you just go by me and not say hello.’ He wagged that long finger of his at me again.
“‘Roger that, Harbor Master, sir,’ I said using my best high-pitched southern drawl.
“Stanley waved that away with his left hand and began to work the throttle with his right, pulling his boat out ahead. He brought the left hand back to the knob on the wheel and began to crank until he had done a U-turn in front of me. Coming to my port side, he shouted, ‘One day I want a tour of this new boat of yours, Gordon.’
“‘Of course, of course,’ I said. ‘Any time.’
“‘Where are your customers?’ he shouted.
“‘We have no customers, Stanley. There’s a recession going on, remember?’
“‘Then what are you doing out?’
“‘Sailing. Just for the fun of it.’
“He laughed a hearty laugh.
“I added, ‘A sailor’s got to sail.’
“Stanley laughed again and put pushed forward on the throttle, waving and smiling as he went on about his business.
“After he departed, I noticed myself breathe again. My heart took a few minutes to return to normal. My men looked at me with wide eyes, questions abounded in their expressions, but no one uttered a word.
“‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I was not thinking straight.’
“As we motored on through the harbor, making our way through the aisles of dockways to our slip, everything felt different. Other sailors and captains seemed to watch me with wary eyes. Unfriendly faces stared out at me as we passed. Even the tourists milling about onshore cast their incriminating gazes in our direction. It made me wonder how lawbreakers could continue in such a lifestyle. I think my mind was playing tricks on me. The guilt was eating me alive.
“The silence between me and my shipmates grew thick. It seemed to last an eternity.
“As we made the final turn down the last aisle, each man attended to his duty to prepare the boat for docking. The sails were neatly and properly tucked and tied. The bumpers were hung over the sides. Tie lines in the cleats were checked and retied.
“Once we pulled into our slip, my men went to work setting the lines and tying them off. The deck was sprayed and swabbed. The gunwales scrubbed and the railings sponged off. The activity was much as it had ever been, minus the jovial banter and playful teasing that usually went on between them.
“When they were done, they turned to me, wondering what came next. With the dead body of our friend belowdecks, no one was inclined to go down there. I didn’t know what to say. Instead of providing clear leadership in a moment of confusion and disarray, the fog inside my head grew thicker and blocked out any intelligent communication. I stood at the helm, still and speechless. My men took turns sneaking looks at me. I wondered what they were thinking, what they would do.
“As the seconds passed, the weight of the deed ahead grew more burdensome. There were things I wished we had discussed ahead of time—like a plan, like sharing memories of our fallen brother, or what to say to the police—but my emotions had paralyzed me until it was too late. Now, in the dreadful moment, my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, frozen.
“Anthony, my first mate, stepped into the breach and signaled for the others to follow him belowdecks. He stopped near the galley and waited until everyone had settled. ‘We’re in a hard spot. It isn’t right what we’ve done. We knew that. We knew the risks. No one knew this would happen, but we knew it was possible.’ He paused, sucking in a deep breath. ‘I’ve been thinking. We tell Tino’s mom that he died in a diving accident. We tell her, and everybody else, that we planned to add scuba diving as part of our business. You know, a way to make money during these hard times.’ He searched each face and saw each head nod in agreement. ‘We were on a practice dive and something went wrong with his equipment. They’ll understand.’
“Manny and Willy looked at each other, then at me.
“‘Aye,’ said Manny, looking sadly resolute.
“‘Aye,’ said Willy.
“Anthony looked at me with a searing gaze. ‘We’ll cover for you this one time. But this is it. The last one. No more risks, no more crime, no more lying.’
“‘You have my word,’ I said.
“‘Let’s practice what we are going to say to the authorities,’ he suggested. Then he went through his version. I made a few corrections. The others added some details. Then we rehearsed until we felt comfortable with our script. We swore to be true to each other and true to Tino’s memory. He had died, we agreed, trying to support his family during a very difficult time. He, even more than the rest of us, was a victim of circumstance.
“Finally, my head cleared. ‘To make our story work
, we have to make it look legit. Let’s go rent dive equipment at Jack’s.’ Jack’s Dive Shop was a local favorite just on the other end of the marina, where the big dive boats docked. ‘We fill the fish hold with ice. Nothing unusual there. We get out to sea, we put Tino in there. We stay out for a few hours, bleed off the tanks, get everything wet. Come back. Any questions?’
“‘Yeah,’ said Anthony. ‘Who do we tell about Tino? And when?’
“I scratched my jaw. ‘I was wondering the same thing. Then Stanley came and scared some sense into me.’ I checked their faces. ‘I think we tell the Harbor Master, whoever is on duty when we return.’
“My three remaining crew members nodded in solemn recognition that this was a plan that made sense, grim as it was.”
Chapter Twelve
Three and a Half Years Before Meeting Collin Cook
George Town Harbor, Grand Cayman Island
“We followed our loosely assembled plan. After renting scuba gear at Jack’s, we were heading back out to sea by nine o’clock that morning. I made sure Stanley Gyles saw us. I waved to him and he scooted over until we were close enough to shout a conversation.
“‘Back out so soon? Without customers?’ he said.
“‘Yes, yes,’ I replied. ‘We are going to practice scuba.’
“‘Whatever for? That’s a rich man’s sport?’ he said back to me.
“‘Exactly. We want to expand our business and offer scuba tours, you know what I mean?’ I said with a big grin on my face.
“‘Brilliant,’ said Stanley, nodding his approval. ‘Enjoy,’ he barked as he put his boat in gear and sped off.
“As soon as we were out of sight of the harbor and other boats, we took Tino and placed him in the fish hold with the ice we had purchased. It was an awful, but needful thing to do.
“After that grisly deed, we made our way to one of the popular reefs but, as expected, there were a number of dive boats nearby. Too crowded for us to do what we needed without drawing attention. So, we moved on. At the next reef we found a similar situation. Same with the third. By this point, it was already noon. We sailed on until we came to a little-known area far from the island. We arrived around 2:30 p.m. With no one around, we set to work making it look like we had done a legitimate dive. We even doused Tino’s body with seawater so that his clothes and hair would be wet.
“Rather than allowing the mood to sour again, I spent the first part of our return trip talking through the situation and how we would handle things upon our arrival at George Town. Once we had worked through that, I shared some remembrances about Tino and the things I admired about him. The men joined in, each sharing something. Time went by much faster and the mood stayed much merrier. Soon, we were pulling up to the mouth of the harbor.
“With urgency, I called in to the Harbor Master, asking for assistance. I did not want to broadcast the bad news across the frequency that almost every boat in the harbor would be listening to as they gathered information. This time it was Michael Ebanks in charge. He was a no-nonsense kind of man. A former police officer, Michael was older and less prone to conversation.
“When the little blue and red boat arrived, we each played our part, breathlessly explaining what happened and how our dear friend expired under the water. Michael switched to an emergency channel and radioed in a request for a pickup by the coroner’s office.
“Michael ushered the Admiral to our slip where a medical transport awaited our arrival. Tino’s body was loaded on a stretcher. There was no escaping the shocked gazes of the onlookers who stopped to watch the unfolding scene. It wasn’t every day an ambulance with its lights going came to our marina. And it wasn’t every day a body-carrying procession passed by.
“Tino was loaded into the back of an ambulance. The lights were turned off and no siren sounded. It just drove off.
“As the van pulled away, my men looked to me for guidance.
“‘I need to speak with his family,’ I said. I moved my eyes to meet the gaze of each man separately. ‘I’ll meet you all back here in two hours.’
“By this time, night had fallen. The lights of George Town were just beginning to take full effect. Store owners were closing their shops. Taxis were scurrying to and fro taking their passengers to the night spots, the restaurants, and clubs. Music was starting up at the bars and pubs. People emerged from homes and hotels looking at the sky and contemplating their evening.
“I did the same, but with an entirely different outlook. Unlike the tourists and the townsfolk, I did not look forward to what lay ahead. With a tip of my cap to my crew, I straightened my posture and crossed the plank bridge that connected the dock with the island. My head was weighed down. My eyes cast to the ground in front of my feet. The fog inside returned.
“Before I realized it, I was on Market Street being serenaded by the sounds and smelling the sweet aroma of grilled meat and fish. Neither the music nor the smells held any appeal to me that evening. A taxi approached me as I ambled. The driver hung his head out the window and offered me a ride into town. I accepted his offer and asked to be let off at St. Ignatius Church.
“After half an hour on my knees praying in the sanctuary, I shuffled through the neighborhoods for another thirty minutes, working my way through the backstreets of George Town until I arrived at the modest home of Tino’s mother. She lived with her parents and sister in a small, but well-kept home not far from Owen Roberts International Airport.
“She read the expression on my face and covered her mouth before I had even uttered a single word. My eyes must have conveyed my purpose. Her sister soon rushed to her side and braced her up.
“‘I’m sorry,’ I said, my voice already faltering. I cleared my throat and began my rehearsed speech. ‘We had a mishap occur while we worked this afternoon.’ I continued on with my memorized narrative, explaining that scuba diving held promise as a way to make more money and how we were practicing to take customers out diving. I explained that we had been trained properly, but something went wrong. I paused but was not able to make eye contact. ‘I’m so very sorry for your loss. I feel it acutely, as well. Tino was like a son to me. He will be missed by me and the rest of the crew more than I can explain.’
“The two women burst into tears. Their wailing could be heard by most of the neighborhood, I would presume, for many of the neighbors came out of their homes to search for the source of the mournful howls. As they began to gather and approach the house, I found myself lost in the growing crowd.
“I had never felt so useless or insignificant. Not knowing what else I could do, I wandered away, still clutching my hat in my hands.
“I made the long walk back to the marina to commiserate with my crew, after another stop at St. Ignatius for more prayers and mourning and confessions.
“When I arrived at the boat, my SNUBA gear lay on the deck near the swim step. My crew must have used it to dive down and retrieve the case.
“I went belowdecks to relay the experience with Tino’s family to the only people in my life that I felt close to. But they were gone.
“Only an opened waterproof case with two stacks of cash and a handwritten note were left behind. ‘Yours and Tino’s,’ is all it said.”
Chapter Thirteen
Three and a Half Years Before Meeting Collin Cook
George Town Harbor, Grand Cayman Island
“I found myself all alone. Again.
“My crew had abandoned me. I had asked too much of them. I had crossed a line and lost their trust. Dishonor, discouragement, and self-loathing hung on me like a lead cape. I collapsed on my berth in the forward stateroom. The heat of the day was trapped inside. I opened the hatch to let in fresh air, turned on the little wall-mounted fan, and sat there until I fell into a deep slumber with the fan blowing at full speed.
“I had a fitful rest, I tell you. My mind replayed everything that led up to this point. Images and emotions combined to make sleep an impossibility.
“When I finally gave up and
arose, it was two o’clock in the morning.
“In the darkness, the solitude was all-consuming. I mustered some food and water—a can of beans and a sleeve of crackers—and sat with my makeshift meal on a paper plate in the aft lounge area. A breeze had kicked up, carrying with it the fragrance of the island, mixed with the telltale smells of civilization. I closed my eyes to focus on the sounds around me. They were pleasing and familiar. Mixed together were the burbles and swishes of water moving around my boat and the dock as the gentle swells surged through the harbor and the humming of nocturnal insects along with the winding-down of the nightlife on shore.
“I sat alone with dark thoughts threatening to drag me into the abyss.
“When I opened my eyes, I realized my face was tilted upward, so the first thing I saw was an array of twinkling stars against the dark blue backdrop of the heavens. To a small degree, my guilt had faded into the background. I feared it might never completely vanish, but my reasoning powers told me that there was nothing I could do to change things now. Each of my four crew members knew the risks and yet volunteered to go forward with our dubious mission. I wasn’t proud of my decision to smuggle drugs, but I had to forge an uneasy peace with my conscience, telling myself I did what I had to do to survive in a broken economy.
“That reasoning only stood until I realized that a man in my charge had lost his life as a result of my decision.
“The stacks of money sitting on the counter caught my attention. Exactly $62,500 in each stack. A somber realization dawned on me. I had to make good on the last shred of trust my men had afforded me.
“I knew then that I had to do what I could to make things right.
“A rough-shod plan developed in my head and I felt instantly compelled to act on it.